By the Old Gods and the New
by Summers-Girl
Summary: What if Ser Walder Frey had cared about the life of his grandson whom Cat held at knife point? An exploration of what would have happened if Robb had walked out of the Red Wedding alive. How differently would the story play out? Would the Starks keep their oath to not seek vengeance? Would Arya and Sansa finally get home? Based primarily on the books.
1. Prologue: Catelyn

This story is an AU beginning from the events of the Red Wedding. It will be based primarily on the information from the books, but I do watch the TV show so that will probably have some influence as well naturally. This is not going to be a happy 'Oh they weren't killed so now everything will go brilliantly' story; there will still be hardships, there's still hellish things going on and there is still going to be a complicated, hard story, and is more an exploration of how things might have played out had the Starks not been so viciously murdered. I love the Red Wedding- it's brilliant writing- but this is just an alternative direction, rather than an entire new story world and all characters will be heavily featured, not just Catelyn and Robb.

I hope you like it and reviews are always appreciated as is _constructive_ criticism.

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"On my honour as a Tully, on my honour as a Stark let my son go or by the seven Hells I shall cut your son's throat"

She held the boy tightly to her, the vice like grip on his arms, aggravating the scars on her fingers from when she had held back a blade from her own throat. She remembered the Valeryian steal cutting through to the bone, the lack of dexterity in her two smallest fingers serving as much a reminder as the scars, and she knew the fear the boy in her arms was feeling. But he did not try to push the blade away as she had, but stood in her grip, trembling and she thought she could almost feel his heartbeat through his clothes and hers.

Ser Walder Frey's attention was drawn, his watery eyes focused on her, his mouth set in a grim line and for a horrifying moment she thought all was lost, that he would sacrifice his own kin for the sake of obliterating hers. But then he held up a hand, like that of an emperor commanding an end to the fight of two Gladiators.

"Stop," He ordered, the one word bringing an end to all movement in the room, even the dying seemed to fall still, their moans of agony momentarily silenced. He looked at Cat, squinting, judging, "You don't have it in you"

"Do not try me, _ser_," She warned and there was something of a madness in her voice, the desperation of one who has nothing to lose. The Cat Ser Walder believed he knew was gone, she felt her vanish the moment she saw the multiple arrows pierce Robb's flesh. She would do anything to see him live, anything to see him walk out of the hall, to have him seen by a Maester, to have his wounds heal. The Lannisters could have the throne for all she cared, they could have their lands, their battles, they could take the Twins and Winterfell and Riverrun, they could take anything they wished, but not her son. She turned back to Ser Walder, "Let him go,"

The Late Walder Frey licked his cracked lips, and sucked against his teeth, thinking and Cat could not believe he would debate his own son's life while she would give anything for Robb's. He looked over at her son.

"What's to say you won't break your oath again? You swear to not take vengeance; what's to say your blessed son won't break your oath the moment I let him walk out of that door? It wouldn't be the first time"

Once again Cat cursed her son's impulse to marry that girl, to put aside his betrothal to the Frey girl. He had made an oath and by the Gods how she wished he'd kept it. Robb stood there in the centre of the room, the blood of those around him splattered on his face and clothes, the multiple arrows protruding from his skin, and he could barely stand upright from his injuries. She felt the burn of the arrow in her own back, but knew she would not die from the injury just as surely as she knew Robb would not die from his. Arrow wounds could be healed; a cut throat could not.

"I swear it, I swear by the old Gods and the new, I will not take vengeance," She repeated her vow, her voice desperate and pleading, more tears flowing down her cheeks, but she did not allow them to loosen her grip on the Frey boy. Her hostage was all that stood between life and death for her son and she would not let go if there were a thousand of the Kingsguard before her.

"Aye," Frey nodded, "But does he?" He looked at Robb again, but the fallen King stayed silent, his mouth closed, his expression defiant.

"Please, Robb," Cat begged, "Make the vow, promise him we will let this pass, _please_,"

Robb faltered in his stance as the leg which had been shot gave way, but he stood once again, pushing himself to his feet as he gazed upon Ser Walder with pure, black hatred in his eyes. He took a few steps forward and seemed almost to stumble again, but he remained upright. He opened his mouth to speak and Cat knew he was about to refuse, she knew by the way he stood, by the way his jaw was set, by the way he looked so like Ned, she knew he would refuse to make the vow.

"Please," She begged again and her son turned to look at her, the hatred in his eyes fading to reveal love and sympathy. He clearly did not wish to make the vow, but the sight of his Mother, her scarred hands holding a blade to a young boy's throat in desperation, seemed to alter something in him and his defiance fell away as he returned his gaze to the man who had betrayed them all.

"I vow it," He finally said, "I swear by the old gods and the new, on my honour as Stark, that I will take no vengeance for this night"

There was no one in the room who could deny he meant the vow with all he had left in him, and Cat sighed a little with relief. She did not let go of the boy though, nor did she drop the blade from his throat; not until her son was safe beyond the grounds, safe beyond the reach of these men who would call themselves soldiers of honour would she loosen her deathly grip.

Frey nodded, accepting the vow.

"I accept your vow, and there's a great many here who bear witness to it should you break it," He gestured at Catelyn, "She's my hostage until I see fit-"

"What-" Robb began to question, but Frey spoke over him as though the King of the North had not spoken at all.

"Until I am sure that I am not further risk of you breaking another oath to me, she shall be kept as hostage"

"And when I am to expect such a thing? You have proven you do not trust me, and if that is the case, you will have my Mother until the day you die. Nothing I do or do not do will change that"

It was quite a sight to see Robb still able to right for his corner, to still fight for his Mother like an alpha wolf viciously protecting his pack, despite the many injuries he had suffered which must be causing him insufferable pain. The burning in her back had increased as though her very spine had caught aflame and she could only think her son must be feeling thrice the pain. And yet he stood there, his life in his grasp, fighting for her. He was his Father's son, never more so than now. Yet, she couldn't let him risk what she had barely gained.

"Please Robb," She said again, though her words were calmer now, the small slice of hope serving to calm her earlier fervour. Before she had nothing to lose, now she had everything, and well it did nothing to lessen her desperation, it had lessened her madness. "I will be fine. Please, I ask you, go. Please"

She looked at him, her expression as pleading as her words and if she could have dropped to her knees and begged she would have done. She watched as her son glanced around the room, the slaughter before his eyes only serving to make his expression grimmer and she prayed further that he would do nothing stupid, that he would do as she asked and walk out of this hall alive. If he left he could still find Arya, still get to Sansa, but if he remained he would only die, able to do nothing but rot in the Earth.

Again the defiance was in his eyes and it was as if all was lost, but it faded as quickly as it had arisen, and slumped, looking as defeated as so many men in battle, he nodded. He began to walk over his Mother, perhaps to say what he thought would be his last goodbyes, but she shook her head at him. She couldn't risk loosening her grip on the boy in her arms. She was holding him against her like a shield, but in truth it was Robb's shield; her own life was of no value, but her sons was worth more than all the Lannister's gold.

"Find the girls. Bring them home," She urged as he began to slowly limp towards the grand entrance at the end of the hall. Two guards pulled the heavy doors open, and they creaked loudly and ominously, the sound echoing across the now silent room. Before there had been joy and music, then there had been screams and slaughter, now there was only silence and Robb's limping step. She watched his every move, though she spared brief glances in the direction of Walder Frey, but the man remained in his seat.

Only when she knew her son to be out of harm's way, did she loosen her grip at all, though while she slackened she still held the blade to the boy's throat and she heard him swallow nervously. She tried to move, but found she couldn't. Her hands, thanks to Petyr's blade, were no longer as flexible as they had once been and such a tight grip for such a long time, seemed to have frozen her hand to the hilt. But even if her grip were not so rigid, she believed she would still be unable to move. She was frozen all over, her stance stiff and unrelenting, fearful of the power hold that would fall away the moment she let go. Jamie Lannister had called her a she-wolf, and perhaps that was who she was now, a Mother wolf protecting her remaining cubs, wild and fierce, fighting off anyone who would come near.

"Take the blade off her," She heard Ser Walter command, though his voice seemed distant and far away, as though it were being spoken from more than another land, but another time. Robb was safe, Robb was away from here, Robb was gone, Robb was alive, were all the thoughts that consumed her and she barely felt the servants her prized her hands away, who broke her grip on the blade.

"And find a cell to throw her in," Frey added, but she didn't care. She would share the tiniest cell with the largest rats and live on nothing but old scraps of stale bread if it ensured her son's survival and so she calmly went with her captors as they led her to her new quarters.


	2. Prologue: Robb

AN: Thank you for your reviews as always. And for all the people following it, favouriting it and just generally reading it; you're all very much appreciated and loved!

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Robb's walk was stilted and slow, and the pain of the arrow wounds only increased as he moved. He couldn't be sure what exactly he felt, which emotion was predominant, which feeling was propelling him forward, keeping him upright. There was anger, grief, exhaustion, fury, pain, even fear, but he didn't know which he felt strongest, which held the greatest power over him. Moments ago it had been a wedding and he had many victories under his belt and many men in his allegiance. Now he had a massacre, a betrayal, a lost battle he never knew he had been fighting, and his Mother taken hostage for the consequence of actions he himself had committed. If he had upheld his oath, if he had married one of the Frey girls, if he had done as he agreed would any of this have happened? Could all of those lives have been spared?

He pulled at one the arrows, and biting down on his lip, tugged the one that had embedded in his leg, resisting the instinct to cry out in agony. He tossed the wooden shaft aside and it sunk into the muddy floor. His leg did not bleed profusely, but only trickled and Robb was faintly aware it signified the arrow had not gone deep.

He took another deep breath and pulled the one from his arm; that one hurt more and the blood flow was greater but there was still no true danger. It would heal, unlike the wounds of the many men he had left behind. The slaughter had been so brutal, more bloody than any battle, than any war. They had broke bread with the Freys, they were meant to be protected by that ancient oath, that while they were guests under his roof they would not be harmed. And he had broke that oath. Just as Robb had broken his. Yet Robb's broken oath had caused nothing but injured pride, burned bridges, while Ser Walder's had caused the loss of lives and brutal, savage murder; it could be called nothing else.

Robb's vow to take no vengeance left a bitter taste in his mouth. He would not have made it had it not been for his Mother's desperate pleas, and even now, mere moments after leaving the hall, he found the oath a difficult one to honour. But what good had come of broken vows before? His broken oaths had brought death and bloodshed to everyone, if he broke another, what consequence would the Gods bring down on those that remained? He could not risk it, while he did not fear for the consequence of his own life, he could not put the lives of others into play. He could not put them in danger for the sake of hateful vengeance. His Mother had sworn and so had he; they must take no vengeance against Ser Walder Frey.

They had made no such promise however to the Lannisters and such a small thought gave Robb some pleasure. He may be able to win no more battles, the war may even be lost to him, but he would see the Lannisters pay for their actions. While the Freys were protected, shielded by an oath prompted by a Mother's love, the Lannisters were not. The Lannisters would pay the iron price for their part in this. Good men had died in there, good men without weapons or warning. It was a cheat's trick, a defiance of the Gods, and retribution was demanded.

There was still one arrow remaining; the one protruding from his chest, and he grimaced at the thought of pulling it from his skin, of feeling the arrow held break his skin further, ripping the flesh. He took a grasp with one hand and prepared to pull when a voice distracted him.

"Well, if it isn't the King of the North," There was no honour or graciousness in the voice; only mockery and when Robb turned he came to see three of Frey's men before him, "How is it you are all the way out here?"

"We were told you weren't to make it past those doors," The second said as the trio advanced upon the eldest Stark.

Robb prayed they would not attack. He had not the strength nor the weapons to defend himself and even if he did manage to defeat them, he feared any such thing would be interpreted as vengeance and as consequence his Mother's life would be forsaken. He shook his head, and tried to say words but his lips and mouth were dry and the words would not come, his tongue feeling heavy and useless.

They slowly aimed their crossbows at him, all three, the bows loaded with bolts ready to pelt into his skin just as they had pelted into the dense fur of his direwolf Grey Wind only moments ago. Though the death of his beloved wolf, his kindred spirit, was something he remained blissfully ignorant to; that would be a pain for another day.

As he looked upon the advancing men, their loaded crossbows in hand, he knew he had to do something, he knew he did, he couldn't let all that happened stand for nothing; if he lost his life barely out of the gate, then what had been the point of his Mother's sacrifice, what was the worth of the lives of the fallen men he had been forced to leave behind? He looked around for something he could use as a shield, but the shock of the attack and the pain of the injuries and the hurt of the losses were making his mind slow and sluggish and he found it hard to think.

Thankfully, he didn't have to. A voice of another of Lord Frey's men broke out, bringing a halt to the impending attack.

"This one's to go free" A grim looking man with a scar across his lower lip announced.

"We were told to make sure no Stark walked back along these walls," The largest of the men replied.

"Change of orders" Came the reply, though it was almost more grunting than physical words, "Mummy's boy here got himself a pardon"

Robb swayed where he stood, the injuries weakening him as the blood continued to pour from the wounds, staining his clothes and dampening the material. The main arrow still protruded from his chest and the injury burned more fiercely than his open wounds, it was almost as though wildfire had been poured on the arrow shaft though he knew it couldn't be true. He licked his lips and managed to focus long enough to speak for himself, though the words were stilted and hoarse.

"My Lady Mother has been taken as his Lordship's ward on the condition that I am to be granted safe passage beyond these walls,"

He wished he could make his voice stronger, to be the voice of a King but he was a king no longer and he did not feel he could play the part even if he were. Was that all he had been doing all along? Playing a part? He truly no longer knew, and while he had felt he had always been doing the right thing, he had begun to feel more unsure in his steps of late, his footing uncertain, learning the steps to a foreign dance he did not know. Perhaps this tragedy only proved he was not the King of the North his men would have him be. What would his Father say to see what had become of his eldest son?

At the confirmation from one of Frey's guards that Robb was indeed entitled to leave without further injury, the crossbow trio slumped in seeming disappointment. They had clearly been eager to strike him down and begrudged being thieved of that simple enjoyment, though Robb could not share their disappointment. He only wished he could have saved all his men at the wedding, he would willingly have the Gods reverse the roles if it were possible; to have him slain on the hall floor and his men walking free instead.

"Best be making your way then," The largest crossbow guard said, a mocking grin across his face. He gave a small kick to the back of Robb's legs, knocking him forward, and the Lord of Winterfell fell to his knees, his injured leg unable to withstand the knocking.

The guards around him laughed and grinned, but he didn't have it in him to feel anger. A few days and the rage would rise as would the indignation and the desire to cut these men down, but now he was numb and did not nothing but stand once again and begin his limping walk through the lands of Lord Walder Frey.

He dimly heard the guards laughing behind him, and something wet hit his back and he knew they had thrown some discarded food at him, but all he saw was his men slaughtered around him. If only he had not married Jeyne. He had a duty and he had refused to fulfill it and his men had paid for it, while he walked free.

He carried on walking, one foot in front of the other, and fiercely pulled out the arrow in his chest, freely screaming in pain as it tore his flesh, blood splattering over his hands and chest. But he would live. He would live. His Mother would get her wish. He would live. But at what cost?

He felt himself getting fainter, but forced himself onwards. The world turned black and he fell to the ground, his legs no longer obeying his command, and he felt the wet grass beneath his knees.

"Robb! Robb!"

He heard his name being called, but he did not know by whom. He thought for a moment that the voice belonged to his youngest sister, to feisty little Arya, but that wasn't possible. She had long been missing, long been lost, was probably as dead as his Father by now. So when he felt himself falling into oblivion, the blackness consuming him, and he saw her face above him, he could nothing but think it was his grief-ridden mind playing painful tricks on his weary eyes.


	3. Prologue: Arya

AN: These first few formative chapters are quite short, as I just wanted to establish where each character was, before I get on with the story, but we should be getting on with the narrative and much longer chapters after this. Enjoy! And thank you for the reviews, favourites and follows. :-)

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Her face was dirty, her skin feeling more mud than flesh, and her clothes were worn and smelled of muck and sweat. They clung to her, and weighed her down and she had sores on her waist, neck, legs, everywhere. The irritation had almost consumed her on her journey here, the aggravating pain only increasing with each step that brought she and the Hound closer to the Twins. Yet now, while the sores were still there and the smell of sweat and dirt was still repugnant and strong, assaulting her nose, she barely noticed it. It didn't matter. It wasn't important.

She had found Robb. After all her trials, after all her ruined journeys, the increasing fear that she would never find her way home and never see her family again, she was finally with her brother.

As she and the Hound had arrived at the twins, she had wanted to run in, but the beastly man had held her back and as he kept her back, she had heard what had put him so on guard. The sound of attacks, of weapons, of screams. She had really wanted to run then. If her family were in there, she had to get to them and save them; she couldn't get this close and come this far, only to lose them all at the last hurdle. But the Hound's grip had been like that of a vice and no amount of struggling could free her from his hold.

But then she had seen Robb coming towards her, stumbling, wounds bleeding, but alive. With new-found strength, or perhaps the Hound had briefly loosened his grip, Arya tore herself away and ran forward to reach her brother, with his familiar auburn hair, and a beard she did not remember him having the last time she had laid eyes on him.

He fainted, collapsing to the ground just as she reached him.

"Robb! Robb!" She exclaimed, pushing and pulling at him, trying to wake up, "It's Arya, it's me. Robb!"

But he remained lost to the world, though she could see his chest rising and falling beneath his clothes and she knew he was alive. A large shadow fell over her, casting both she and Robb in darkness and she turned around to see Sandor standing over them, looking at them both with that same expression he always had, void of emotion, not giving a single clue to his true thoughts and feelings. She doubted he had any, not truly.

"We have to move him, get him away from here," She insisted, "He's hurt"

Sandor did not look convinced, but continued to survey the both of them, before peering around at their surroundings, paying attention to both the slayers and the slain. Robb may be here alive, but there was no sign of any of his men, any of the Starks or the Tullys. Arya knew what he must be thinking; if there were no family or men beyond Robb, would he get rewarded for returning the youngest Stark daughter? He hadn't brought her here out of the goodness of his heart after all, but out of a resentment for the King and a need for money and a living.

"If he dies, you'll never get paid," She warned him, "If you _let _him die, they'll never reward you," And I''ll kill you, she added silently. She couldn't carry Robb herself, but the Hound was large and strong; he could it easily. If he wouldn't help, Robb would have to stay bleeding on the ground and would doubtless die where he lay amongst the worms and bloodied soil. If that happened, she would take the Hound, she would kill him, she would stab him with Needle, making holes wherever her blade would go, until he bled out slowly. A slow death. No mercy.

Sandor listened to her and inclined his head ever so slightly, and she took that to mean he knew she spoke the truth.

"Alright, girl," He said before bending forward to pick up the unconscious, bleeding Robb Stark of Winterfell.

"What about my Mother?" Arya asked, looking around desperately but she could see no sign of the familiar long auburn hair, the fur trimmed dress, she was no where to be seen, "She has to be here. If my brother is alive, she has to be also," It was more a prayer or plea than a factual statement. She couldn't be dead, she couldn't, she _had_ to be alive. She had lost her Father to the Lannisters, must they take her Mother also?

"She's gone girl," Sandor told her, heaving Robb over his shoulders, "Best you start moving"

"No," Arya shook her head, remaining where she stood, her voice petulant and her stance defiant, and she knew she sounded as though she were Rickon's age and not nearly grown as she herself was, "No. We have to find her"

"No, we don't," The Hound insisted, "We leave with the one that's alive, girl. Your Mother's dead along with everyone else. Stay if you want to add yourself to the list," He added before turning away and beginning to walk back to their horses, and Arya was dimly aware that carrying Robb was not even slowing his pace a little; it was as though he were carrying no weight at all.

"She can't be dead..." Arya whispered to herself, but as she looked around she could think of no other alternative. Robb seemed to be the sole survivor, and he surely wouldn't leave if their Lady Mother still lived; Robb was too honourable, too good, he would never leave unless there was no else.

Hot tears stung her eyes, but she blinked once and they disappeared, completely vanished as though they had never been there in the first place. She was strong. She was a wolf of Winterfell. She had Robb. She would not cry.

Sparing one last look for the fallen around her, their blood soaking into the ground, making the dark soil of the colour of iron, she turned and hurried after the Hound and her brother. Robb might be the only family she had left (perhaps even Sansa was dead by now) and she wasn't going to let him out her sight.


	4. Catelyn

A/N: Thank you for the follows and favourites, and thank you for the reviews especially. I'm glad you're all enjoying this. As promised, the first proper chapter is a lot longer than the prologues, and obviously as length and narrative increases, there will be a slightly longer wait between chapters now. There should be at least one chapter a week, sometimes more depending on my free time. But I hope you enjoy it and that you stay with me on this, and let me know what you think! Enjoy!

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At first they had taken her to a cell that was located far beneath the bowels of the Twins, deep in the ground, where even sunlight struggled to reach. As she was taken from the room, her eyes had found the many dead bodies around her, lay strewn across the stone floor., and the blood stained the bottom of her dress. She had at first tried to avoid them, to make herself blind to the atrocities for fear it would weaken her resolve- she could not afford to break, for anything to create even the smallest crack or else she would fall and all would be lost. Yet as she was guided (a gentle description of the pushing and hard nudging she had received from the guard who had led from behind her) from the the room, she thought she was doing a disservice to Robb's men to avoid them and thus forced herself to look, to gaze upon them all, memorising all of their faces one by one. They were all someone's son, there was a Mother grieving now as she had grieved Bran and Rickon. They had left their homes to fight a war, to fight for what they believed right and paid for it with their lives. Not even the so-called glory of a death in battle had been granted them; they had been slaughtered at their tables while they ate. All because of broken oaths and injured pride.

Pride was all it ever came down to; what man would aspire to be king if it was not pride driving him. A man could fight to free his people, fight to end wickedness, but to fight for a throne seemed to Cat to be nothing but the product of the motivations of self-serving men. At least she could take comfort in the fact her Ned had never been one for such desires. Eddard Stark had not lacked for an opportunity to take the throne, nor lacked for the means or support, but he had never wanted it. All he aspired for was his home at Winterfell and the good and safety of his people. Robb was the same; it was not he that had placed the crown upon his head, he had not named himself King of the North. His men had elevated him to that status, his men had asked that of him, and he had answered them. What other choice did he have? But she had known even then that a dangerous path was being set, wars between kings rarely achieved anything but bodies upon the ground and the slaughter under Lord Walter Frey's roof had been but another collection of causalities for the cause.

But Robb was not one of them; Robb was alive. Her first son and now her last. Alive.

The thought kept her strong; it allowed her to look upon the bodies without falling, without breaking, and it allowed her to bear the dim, dank cell they had first brought her to.

The cell was worthy of the worst of prisoners and had most likely been previously used by murderers, smugglers and thieves and so the presence of a high-born Lady in in fine furs and braided hair had caused something of a stir amongst the few servants who worked on the dim cells. She had heard them discussing her, their talk so quiet and hushed that she could not make out the words entirely, but she had heard her own name spoken enough to know she was the subject of their hushed conversations. She only wished she could hear more; she had learned when she was a little girl that more useful information could be found in the chatter of servants than in the chatter of dignitaries, but she heard nothing clear from the Frey service and remained in frustrating ignorance of the goings on in the castle. She had to remind herself of why she was here, saying Robb's name to herself quietly over and over, so as to halt any desire to attempt to leave or to find a way out of the awful place.

After a few days, she wasn't quite sure how many, a gruff-looking man with a matted beard and a large belly was brought to the cells and shoved into the cell next to hers. She at least had been given the dignity of walking in herself and had been allowed access to a lady's maid of sorts to help with her hair and clothes- she may be a hostage, but she was still a Lady and even in cells such luxuries were granted as it always served the Lord better if their rich hostage was well-maintained. She doubted the man next to her would be granted such a luxury.

When her makeshift maid attended her the next day, she asked who he was and why he was in the cells.

"He's the enemy milady," The girl, a frail thing of nine with long fair hair the colour of wet sand who claimed she went by the name of Margaryt, said.

"I imagine the Lord Frey has many enemies," Catelyn replied drily. He was not well liked even by those he supported, her Father had mocked him for a reason, and by his enemies he was truly hated. With the events of the previous days and Lord Walter's obvious change of alliance, she thought it likely his enemies had increased twofold at the very least.

"Everyone has enemies, milady," The girl replied as she continued to braid, "They don't say much to me, mind, but like as not he was on the lands. Found him stealing or some such, and him being on the wrong side and all that makes it treason milady"

Considering the fact The Late Lord Walter Frey was not a King or anywhere near the title, Catelyn did not thing stealing from his land could be considered treason, but Margaryt was well-meaning and one of only a few servants who spoke to her, so she didn't both to correct the girl.

"And so he has exchanged a river of fish for the lion's den," Cat murmured, silently praying for the lions to devour their new bannerman whole. She could not seek vengeance, by the words of her own vow, but that did not prevent her from wishing it. When she had spoken, it had been more to herself than Margaryt but the girl replied anyway.

"I hear he gets many a raven from the King's Hand," She said knowingly, as though one sharing a loosely guarded secret with a best friend, "I think Lord Tywin must be frightening in battle- they say he stands 7 feet tall"

Cat knew that little rumour to be greatly exaggerated, and suspected it might even have been the Lannister patriarch himself who had begun it. Yet again, however, she did not correct Maragryt on her assumptions, for she had a more pressing query in mind.

"Lord Tywin writes him often?" She asked.

"Yes, milady, for a long time now, Milady"

A long time. Long before the wedding. His betrayal, his slaughter, had been planned for so long and while they had been guarded they had been never suspicious of such a massacre. The realisation that it had not been orchestrated briefly, within a short space of time, but in fact had been planned long and arduously, with the Royal Family pushing him onwards, supporting his every move, made Catelyn heat up with rage. It made it more than vengeance, more than simply a vicious consequence of injured pride but a battle strategy for an attack none were permitted to prepare for, that had not taken place in the proper arena, in the battlefields of war. To fall in battle was something expected, all men walked in knowing the risks of the task they were undertaking, but to plan the massacre of a wedding was beyond forgiveness, beyond even retribution. _May the Gods have them all, may they all burn in the seven Hells for this. _

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Once Margaryt had left and silence and stillness took over the prisoners' keeps once more, Cat sat alone, thinking over a great many things, both regrets and jubilations, successes and failures, when she heard a gentle humming from the man in the cell next door. It was not a tune she had ever come across before and she thought perhaps the man was making it up as he went along; he would not be the first as she vividly remembered the awful songs the minstrel had 'created' when they had been escoriting Tyrion Lannister to her sister. That was a journey she deeply regretted; she had wanted to avoid Winterfell for fear of Lannister following, but her plans had been pinned on the belief her sister would be sane and reasonable. Instead she had found an oddness only amplified by a lonely existence in the sky castle. She had begun to doubt the Imp's guilt as they had travelled, wondering if mistaken evidence had led her astray, and her intent for him to be tried was to be find the real truth- there was no use in executing a man who had not committed the crime. There was no justice in it either. But her sister had not listened, and the youngest Lannister sibling had walked away free as the birds that flocked the sky cells, and Cat had had no justice nor any answeres that would lead her to it, though as she knew now that Jaime had been the culprit, she doubted Tyrion would have betrayed his brother even if he had known the truth.

At least this man hummed better songs than the ones performed on that regretful journey. S

She had just started to adjust to his gentle humming, the quiet, wordless song, serving to bring some brightness to the dank little home she seemed destined to spend an unknowing amount of time within, when the singing abruptly stopped and the man spoke instead.

"I happened upon a glimpse of you when I was brought here, you know," The man's voice said, and Catelyn was a little surprised to realise he was speaking to her and not one of the servants who came wandering by with some small task.

"It is a small selection of cells, ser, I would not think it unlikely for you to have seen me as you came by," She answered curtly. She had to be careful; if the wedding had taught her anything, it was to be even more vigilant in choosing where to place one's trust. Betrayals did not just happen in the battlefield or on counsels; they were everywhere and one had to be wary and vigilant always.

"I am no ser," The man replied, his words more a grumble than anything and Cat thought that perhaps he had been a knight once, but the recent turmoil across the kingdoms had somehow stripped him of the title. He would not be the first or the last to suffer such a snub, "Though I find myself curious to discover a Lady in these ranks"

Cat did not answer and so the man, unprompted, spoke further.

"I would be hard put not to recognise you, Lady Stark, as I have seen you many times before this day"

Inwardly, Cat cursed the man for recognising her so easily; undoubtedly he had many questions he wanted to ask, and a great deal of information he wanted to gain, none of which Cat felt very much like giving. Though she had first been grateful for the sound of another person in the prisons, she now began to earn for silence once again where she could lose herself in thought, listen to any gossip that travelled down the narrow walls, and pray for the lives of her remaining children.

"And where might you have seen me before now, ser?" She asked, continuing to use the title owed to a knight. If he intended to garner information from her, then she was entitled to do the same, and her most prominent concern was how he might have come across her before; he did not sound like a northman, nor had he looked like one when he had been brought to the cells, but as she knew all too well, appearances could be deceiving. "Do you call yourself a lion or wolf?"

"Gods be good, I should have been a wolf like yourself, my lady," He replied and Cat almost went to protest that she was a Tully by birth, and that she was no wolf, but the words faded on her lips. She had married into the wolves many moons ago, but it was only in recent times that she felt herself becoming one of the pack. Her Houses' words 'Family. Duty. Honour' still rang true in her heart, but it was 'Winter is Coming' she spoke of more often. She had heard the words of both allies and enemies alike murmuring her name- it seemed men must create names for all and while they tagged Robb The Young Wolf, the Northern Wolf and other variations, she had heard them dub herself Mother of Wolves, She-wolf...not a single fish amongst their words. Perhaps they were right; she was a she-wolf, a woman of the north, and the Winters had come for her.

"Indeed," She replied, his admittance that he was not an ally making her even less inclined to speak.

"I was a stag by all accounts, member of the Kingsguard for King Robert," The man continued, "But after King Joffrey it might as well have been a lion I took for my banner.

"The Lannisters were on the seat of the throne, long before the boy Joffrey was crowned," Cat said wisely, knowing it to be true. Robert may have been king but the Lannister had held both the purse strings and the control, always. Robert's arguments against them had only ever been small defiances; his largest one being the appointment of Ned as Hand of the King, and such a great protest against the Lannisters' wishes had only concluded with both good men dead. Yes, the Lannisters had always held the reins and anyone who thought or believed otherwise was a fool among fools.

"Happen you're right," The man agreed, "Turned to madness when that boy took the throne, nothing but blood and treason and chaos" He paused briefly, "I abandoned my post. I am not ashamed to admit it my lady, and took my leave of King's Landing as soon as possible. I would rather be a traitor in the greens than fight for a man who shows no mercy" He paused again and Cat felt she knew what was coming, though she prayed the man would not speak of it, would not say the words, for it was a pain she still felt most poignantly, as much she did the loss of her children, and she could not break in here.

"I was there, when he made the order on Lord Eddard, my lady," He said and she felt the tears prick her eyes, though she strengthened her resolve. Tears may fall, but she would not break, and she forced herself to listen, "Both the Queen Regent and the little Lady Sansa pleaded for mercy, and it had been well known that Lord Stark was to be sent to the Night's Watch as punishment, but on the last moment, it was King Joffrey as changed his mind, my lady. And made a show of it. It was wrong, and unjust, and my vows are to protect the just and the righteous. I took my leave and it's took them this long to find me. I had a good run, though"

The Night's Watch. She would never have been able to be with him again, they would have been forever parted, but he would have been alive, and not a collection of bones in a glorified chest sent to be buried in a crypt that had since been taken over by Ironmen.

While she would expect nothing less from Sansa, Cat could not deny she was a little bewildered by Cersei's pleas for mercy on Ned's behalf. She briefly thought it may have been so leftover loyalty to Robert, but quickly dismissed the notion. Cersei had no loyalty to any but her own; no doubt she knew that such a death, such a blow, would only enrage the north and set them on the path of war they had all been doomed to since that day. It was true if Ned's life had been spared, Robb would not have been so eager to war, and perhaps peaceful agreements could have been made to gain Sansa and Arya. But Joffrey had dismissed his Mother's wishes, and sentenced her beloved Ned to a death he did not earn; he was no traitor, Catelyn knew, as she would always know.

"So, my lady, why is it I find myself in the company of such well-born inmates?" The man asked, and Cat sighed for she knew she had no choice but to answer. He had shared his story and so she must share hers.

"I am here as hostage to ensure my son's life. My first son...and my last," She added in a murmur, her thoughts turning to Bran and Rickon as they often did, "I am sure the news of the wedding celebration has reached you, ser, if not before your entry here then certainly after"

"You hear no words in the forests, my lady, where there are no people and there are no ravens, there is no news. And here I find the conversation even less"

Cat sighed yet again, and prepared herself for further speech. Though she saw the massacre in her mind's eye everytime she slept, she had not needed to speak of it with anyone thus far, for all in Frey's walls had been present. This would be her first time voicing the incident and she found the task a harder one than she would have believed.

"My brother had married one of the Frey girls. It was only while we were in celebration that the doors were closed and a brutal slaughter began" She told him, "None but Robb escaped, and only through a bargain that has me in this cell before you, ser"

"At a wedding..." The man repeated softly, and there was some comfort to be found in the disgust in his voice. Murder at a wedding was a thing unheard and she was certain that beyond the Lannisters, the Freys would gain no allies from such an action, but only further prove to those around him that he was a Lord most untrustworthy.

"He violated Guest Right?" The man asked, and though Cat remained silent, he knew her answer was 'yes', "That is to break an oath with the Gods themselves; they will never forgive such a thing"

"Then let them bring all the punishments of the seven Hells upon him soon," Cat whispered, pleading for it more than she had made any prayer, with as much fervour as she had given to her pleas for Bran's life when he had been pushed from the window at Winterfell.

* * *

There was further conversation between the two cell mates, and Cat had found Ser Victor to be a small comfort in a dark time. Though it seemed such interaction was frowned upon by the Freys, or gave great concern for the Lord himself (an ally alone was less worrisome than allies together) as after a few days, Cat was informed she was being moved to a cell more befitting a Lady of her rank and station.

As she had been led away, she had caught a final glimpse of Ser Victor and was finally able to put a true face to the voice. There had been a soft smile between the two of them, an understanding between comrades, before Cat had been taken around the corner and out of sight, and she had wondered whether she would ever come across the former Kingsguard again.

Now, she was being kept to one of the many rooms in the twins, only slightly smaller than the one she had been confined to with her father after her act of treason in letting Jaime go. If she hadn't sent him with Brienne would the wedding slaughter have happened? No matter how spurned Lord Walter had been by Robb's marriage to Jeyne, no Lannister would have supported a massacre while Jaime was was still in their cells surely? It was impossible to know, just as impossible as it had been to foretell the future and where actions and events would lead them. If they knew such things, the war would be won already, but alas, it raged on relentlessly, as though there would never be an end in sight.

Cat watched from her window, gazing across the green fields and the rushing water, seeing the horses and their riders come and go from the keep. Where do their hearts lie, she wondered. Though they held the Frey sigil on their breast, was that the nature of their true alliance? One was never sure. Cat began to think that sigils held no use or purpose, if men were so prone to breaking oaths and changing sides as the winds changed direction.

Margaryt was still her maid, that luxury had not been taken in exchange for the room thank the Gods, and while the nine year old knew relatively little of the goings on of the castle, she still gave Cat far more information than anyone else who passed her by and for that she was grateful.

"Milord is not in the best of minds today, Milady," Margaryt told her, "He has a right temper on him"

"I begin to doubt he has any other disposition than displeasure," Cat replied.

"He has many a ravens coming and going, some as say they're from the Lannisters"

"The Lannisters?" Cat asked, turning around in her chair to look at the girl, her interest fully piqued. Anything directly to do with the Lannisters was of possible importance, and Cat wished to know all she could.

"Yes, milady," The girl nodded. She began whispering again, as she always did when she felt she was sharing an important secret, "Apparently, it's said that Lord Tywin himself is to be visiting"

"Lord Tywin?" Cat repeated, "Is he not the King's Hand? I would have thought leaving King's Landing would not be a path easily decided"

The girl shrugged, not quite understanding, "I do not know, Milady. Must be it's important. It's quite exciting I think; every says that Lord Tywin is as handsome as a lion"

"And as vicious as one as well," Cat added, indicating for the girl to continue braiding her hair. Twin Lannister making his way to the Twins; she was not entirely sure of her thoughts on the matter, but there was one thing for certain- she did not think it boded well.


	5. Tyrion

A/N: Thank you for the follows and favourites, and thank you for the reviews especially. I'm glad you're all enjoying this. I wrote this, and published it, while travelling so I've not been able to proof read so apologies if there are one or two typos. Enjoy!

* * *

Lord Tywin Lannister had made it more than plain for everyone to see that with his triumphant arrival at the Battle of Blackwater, he was not only actively assuming his role as Hand, but that he intended to command a great deal of power, control and orders from his comfortable and authoritative position. He had wasted no time in ensuring that Cersei knew that even as Queen Regent she was still answerable to her Father, that Joffrey knew he could not order and bark at his Grandfather as he did every other person in his presence, that things would be done his way from now on, and most importantly, and perhaps most vehemently, he had ensured Tyrion knew he was _no longer_ the hand, and that he remembered he was the shameful, and reluctantly admitted, son of Tywin and a disfigured little beast at that who had killed his Mother and should be grateful for any scrap of acceptance and respect he was tossed.

With all of this in mind, it had therefore been surprising to hear the Lord's announcement that he would once again be leaving King's Landing. Though he had announced his departure would not be for long, the announcement of his absence at all was of some delight to Tyrion.

"Leaving?" He had questioned as the announcement was made during the small counsel, "But it seems as if you had only but arrived. We were planning a great feast in your honour. Perhaps some suckling pigs would have been provided. I like suckling pig"

As usual his Father gave him no joy of a reply beyond a silent look of disdain, an expression of dismissal conveyed through cold eyes and a piercing glare. It was an expression he received more often than any other from his Father, and as a young lordling he had thought perhaps it was the only expression he had until he had seen the smile Lord Tywin seemed always able to grant Jaime.

"Such a shame that his Lordship should have matters of such dire consequence which draw him away so soon after his arrival," Lord Varys simpered, giving Tyrion the impression the eunuch knew the finer details of Lord Tywin's business. It was not to be unexpected; that was little he did not know or did not make sure to find out. Tyrion still could not forget how uncomfortable it had made him feel when he discovered the spider with his Shae, that the man could find her so easily, and make his way in with equal ease had been unsettling.

"Yes, well, "Lord Tywin replied, with a suspicious glare in Lord Varys' direction and Tyrion thought it might not only be he who believed Varys knew more than he ought, but while it was an irritating concern for his Father, Tyrion hoped to benefit from the knowledge later on if he paid enough for it in either action or coin.

"It cannot be helped it seems," Lord Tywin continued, his jaw tensing and his expression hardening, showing he believed it very much could have been helped. Lord Tywin believed everything of a nasty nature could be avoided...if only the people in question would simply do as he told them. Do as Tywin says and no evil shall befall them, seemed to be his belief in life, and considering the Lannisters vow to always pay the debts, the addage of his probably held some considerable truth. "Not all battles are won with the sword and I'll be seeing to some matters with the Freys"

"The Freys?" Cersei asked, "House Tully's bannermen?"

"House Tully's no more, my dear" He said smugly.

_Ah so that's what all the pen scratching and ravens had been about, _Tyrion thought, remembering his Father's words that papers won wars more than weapons. Stealing a bannerman from House Tully was in itself of great consequence, not to mention great insult, but Lord Walter Frey had enough men that when added to Robb Stark's already existing horde would make the Northern King a greater enemy to the Lannister than he already was. But with Frey's men taking the lions' side, it was an advantage certainly put to their side, Tyrion could not deny. However, he could not help but spare a thought for his maiden wife. Sansa, while still horrified by the sight of him, was not an unkind girl and was certainly undeserving of all of the horrors his family had put upon her. With Robb losing a significant amount of men, the risk of his losing his head in battle were increased and while the loss of the Stark would be of benefit to Tyrion's family in the long run, the thought of the pain such a loss would cause Sansa weighed heavy on his heart to an almost unsettling degree.

"And how are we to fill such a large hole which you will undoubtedly leave behind in your absence?" Tyrion answered from his seat at the opposite head of the table (a seat his sister had despised him taking, but when she had purposefully sat at the side of her Father he had had no choice but to one-up somehow). "Surely we cannot expect King's Landing to carry on without the great King's Hand. Oh, who could fill such big boots, I do not know" He said dramatically, thinking he knew fine well who could fill them. _Me,_ _I could fill them. I did a fine job before you arrived, better than anyone else was doing, but not a single of one you cares to remember what the Imp did for you all. _

"If you'd finished your incessant wittering," His Father said, "I was this moment to announce you as my acting Hand, as before"

"Me?" So surprised by the announcement, Tyrion had little else to say and merely stared in mild shock.

"Him?" Cersei on the other hand could not have sounded more disgusted.

"Yes," Lord Tywin said in a tone that brooked no argument, "Despite his many, _numerous_ faults, your brother has a sharp mind and was more than capable in my absence before and shall be again until my return, or would you rather I chose one of your halfwit paid men to fill the position?" He looked at his daughter scathingly, as if the mere imagining of anyone but a Lannister being King's Hand was a laughable notion. If Lord Tywin ever laughed, which was a matter very much doubted by everyone. A small sneer of a smile was sometimes achieved, but nothing greater had ever been witnessed.

"I could stand in," She insisted, the desperation to not have any power granted back to Tyrion making her insolent and careless.

"A woman?" It seemed as if Lord Twyin would break his reputation and laugh, but he merely scoffed, "Don't be so absurd. And the Queen Regent does not act as Hand. Tyrion will be placed in my stead until my return which should not be long," He turned to Tyrion, "Not a long journey at all, so do not use your time to turn these chambers into another of your whore dens in my absence"

How his Father could compliment with one hand and take it back with the other. But Tyrion was used to it, and despite the occasional sharp jab which still made it's way through to him, he generally had a sturdy armour to such things and the dismissive comments of his Father bounced off with more ease than usual, as the announcement of being named Acting Hand softened any verbal blow he delivered.

"Do not worry my dear sister; the King commands, the Hand _only_ advises," Tyrion said repeating Cersei's own instructions to him from many, many months ago, "You cannot be so concerned with a little advising? Or are you so worried that any advice I might give might reveal any indiscretions you yourself might have?"_ Like fucking cousins and Kingsguards, or promising to fuck them at least, just to keep them all in hand_, he thought, and as he saw the frown line her expression he could see her wondering if he knew. The way her eyes flashed over to Varys proved it.

"Certainly not," She finally said, and a sly smile started to dance across her lips as she looked downwards at the austere wooden table before them, "Just as long as you can handle any matter you might be required to undertake, little brother"

Tyrion did not like the way she said that. It spoke of bitter plans and insidious undermining, and the smirk she was barely hiding as she kept her gaze down, only made it appear as though she had a thought already in mind of how to work against him. He made a mental note to keep an even closer eye on her than he already did.

After the counsel was adjourned, Tyrion made sure to catch Varys before he scuttled off down some secret spider hole, to talk to his 'little birds' which he appeared to keep everywhere and anywhere.

"Yes, my Lord?" Lord Varys replied with his usual simpering politeness when Tyrion pulled him to one side, into a darkened corner of the landing where the sunlight that poured through the open windows did not quite reach.

"What will it take for you to share with me the information you have undoubtedly gathered upon my Father's _penned_ war?"

The eunuch maintained an air of purposeful innocence, though knowing the man as he did Tyrion only found the expression laughable.

"Information my Lord?" Lord Varys asked, "I'm afraid I don't know to what you could possibly be referring"

Tyrion did not have the patience right now to adhere to the little spy's many riddled games, and being named Acting Hand made him even less so. "You know exactly what I mean. Unless you've lost your touch, you know precisely what dealings my Father has had with the Lord Frey. How much will it cost?"

"Ah, for you; nothing," Lord Varys said, a grin spreading across his round face like that of the smiling assassin, "But perhaps as Master of the Coin, and King's Hand in your Father's stead you can find it in your _kind_ heart to turn the other cheek should we say while I go about some of my business. Some birds get frightened you know..."

Tyrion waved the matter aside with a hand, "Yes, yes, I shan't lay my eyes on any nasty dealings," Though the Gods knew why the eunuch wanted assurances now; Tyrion had never been one to come down harshly on any of his actions before. Perhaps Varys had something even more questionable and seedy in his plans. The thought had Tyrion both concerned and intrigued, and he was not entirely sure which sentiment was most prominent.

"Very good my Lord Hand," Ah Tyrion had missed hearing that, "My birds tell me that your Lord Father has been in talks with the Freys for a great many months, ever since Robb Stark broke his vow to marry one of the Frey girls"

"Yes, well, a stupid move strategically but otherwise one could hardly blame him. That old man breeds like the rabbits and sheep, and his kin bear more resemblance to the farm animals than fair maidens," There were few girls Tyrion did not find attractive, but the Frey girls tended to be the exception to the rule as he found himself to be nothing but repulsed by the slack-jawed lot of them, "Jeyne Westerling was always _far_ prettier. If a little dim" Not like Shae, who was sharp and witty, as clever as she was beautiful. He shook his head slightly; he must thing on more vital matters than Shae. "Did my Father write Lord Walder himself?"  
"No," Lord Varys shook his head, "It was Lord Walder who initiated. It seems he did not take Robb Stark's slight well"

"The man cannot take a joke, never mind a break of an oath. And what did this communications consist of? I doubt they were merely discussing their dislike of the boy"

"It seems there was a plan to rid themselves of Robb Stark at his uncle's wedding"

Tyrion had heard news of Lord Edmure to Rosilin Frey, but had presumed that such a match would only tighten the family's connection to the Tullys, not sever it which seemed to be the case, if his Father's ambiguous hints were anything to go by.

"A siege," Lord Varys continued, "While the men made merry, the Lannisters and the Freys took the Starks and their men down, one by one. Quite brutal really...I never did have the heart for such violent happenings"

"They slaughtered them at a _wedding?" _Tyrion could not hide his horror; there were some things that simply were not done. Violating Guest Right for one- as long as a man had eaten and drank under the roof of his host then he should come to no harm at his hand. It was said to be the curse of the Gods upon the head of whoever broke such an oath- he would not wish to be Lord Frey for all the dragons Littlefinger claimed rested in King's Landing. "They had not yet beat him in battle, so they slew him while he drank?" Tyrion thought that was low blow and bad form, even for his Father.

Varys shook his head, "No, no. The intent had been for Robb to be killed along with his men, but it seems he has escaped alive"

"He escaped?"

"Perhaps escape is the wrong word..." The eunuch pondered, "My birds tell me that his Lady Mother held a blade to a young Frey's throat. With such a threat the Lord had no choice but to release the young Kingling"

"That would explain my Father's temper..." Tyrion murmured, though he was not surprised to hear of Lady Catelyn's actions. The woman may claim her Tully roots were strong, but he had witnessed for himself that there was more of a wolf to the woman than even her late husband had claim to. She was not a woman to be trifled with and his Father was a fool if he underestimated her. "And what did they do with the Mother of Wolves?" He asked, "Take her pelt or merely cage her with the dogs?"  
"It seems both she and her brother are taken hostage. If I were to _presume_ my Lord, I would say it is those very hostages your Father is paying a visit to"

Tyrion nodded and bidded Lord Varys before making his way to his own lodgings. His mind was whirring with a million thoughts and he tried to order them in his mind.

Robb Stark was a King no more it would seem, for what was a King without men? Yet with his Lady Mother and Lord Uncle both held hostage, it would be remiss to presume that no trials or tribulations would come of that. Robb was too like his Father it had proven, and was unlikely to not seek justice.

At least when he broke news to Sansa he would not have to tell her of the death of her Mother and brother, only of their defeat. She already had enough reason to hate him, without adding further fuel to the flames.


	6. Arya

A/N: Thank you for the follows and favourites, and thank you for the reviews (reviews are always valued and appreciated, hint hint). Hope you like this chapter as this sees the beginning of Robb's story and the journey he will be setting on (with an unlikely addage to the travelling group). Enjoy!

* * *

It felt like an eternity as she sat beside him, waiting for him to awake. She had sat at his side, touching his forehead, touching his hand, reassuring herself that he was alive and that she had indeed found him, that she was no longer alone. She had been fretting so much over her brother's limp body, his bandaged injuries feeling like arrow shafts in her own body, that the Hound had eventually had enough of her dancing around him and had told her to make herself useful by getting water and more bandage cotton from the woman who owned the inn in which they staying.

Arya wished the Hound would leave, leave both her and Robb in peace, but the beastly man was persistent and refused to budge until he got what he had come for.

"I travelled with you for months, girl, and I mean to get my dragons and stags for it" He said whenever she protested his presence.

To get out of his way, and perhaps because there was some truth in his comments that she was hovering around her brother in a fashion that did nothing but worry her more she had finally wandered outside. She wanted to look upon him alive and smiling, not unconscious and grim and here, as she practised her water dancing with a wooden stick that was nothing like a sword, she was able to remember him in the keep at Winterfell, teaching her things girls shouldn't know. How to shoot an arrow, how to swing a sword. He never taught her in all seriousness, only in casual jest but she had always enjoyed it regardless.

She swung the sword-stick around, and matched her footwork with the movement. She knelt to one knee, and rolled, bringing herself back to her feet with ease, her stick pointed forward in attack. She repeated Syrio's wise instructions over and over again, whispering them to herself, instructing herself, reminding herself. She swung around, bringing the 'sword' round in a large arc swinging at the phantom attacker.

"Oof!"

The phantom attacker turned out to be the son of the baker who worked in the inn. Kevan his name was. Or Kyle. She mostly called him Wart for all the blemishes that popped up all over his face, most prominently on his nose. She hadn't been so mean as to give him the nickname straight away. She _had_ tried to be kind, but then he had mocked her for her boy's clothes and told her she was an ugly girl with none of a boy's brains and an idiot to boot for wearing a boy's clothes. She had dove at him there, tearing into his hair, until The Hound had pulled her off him. When Wart had then presumed The Hound was her Father she had launched at him again, and the King's former dog had not pulled her off as quickly. Only when Wart was whimpering in a pile had he pulled Arya away.

Wart was more careful around her now, but he still shouted insults from a safe distance and she found him more annoying than all the boys that had travelled with Yoren put together.

"Get out of my way" She told him, waving the stick at him again.

"What are you doing?" He scoffed.

"It's none of your business," She told him, returning to her practice and trying her very best to ignore him as she water danced across the muddy grass.

"It looks stupid"

"That's because you are too much of an idiot to know what anything means or what anything is," She stopped and turned to look at him where his warty face was staring at her with his stupid mouth agape, "_Go away."_

"No" He said simply, a smug smirk on his face as he folded his arms, refusing to move.

She danced forward, turned around and swung the stick and it hit him in the side of the face and he cried out in pain.

"That wasn't even anything," She told him disdainfully, "It's only a stick and I barely touched you. You're just useless. A useless wart"

She hit him again with the stick and he whimpered some more and so she hit him again. This would teach him not to leave when she told him. If he had just gone when she ordered him to. She hit him again.

"Ow, stop it"  
"Then _go away" _She insisted, cartwheeling forward and then hitting him upon the back.

It would have perhaps gone further, if not for the call of the innkeeper woman from the upper window.  
"Milady," She called and Arya turned, "Your brother is awakening"

At those words, Arya dropped her stick carelessly to the ground and ran inside.

"You're not a Lady," Wart shouted after her. He knew what his Father had told him, that this boy-girl was in fact Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell, sister of the King of the North, but he didn't really believe it. High born ladies didn't dress in boys' clothes and fight in the mud and hit people with sticks.

When Arya dashed into the small room where her brother had been healing, the first thing her young eyes fell upon was The Hound stood by him. It angered her that he had been here when Robb awoke, before she was. _She_ was his sister, the Hound was nothing but a bloodthirsty animal who should be put to rest. He was only here because he wanted to ransom her, as he kept repeating to her until her ears throbbed with the words, so why should he get to see Robb first.

"Why are you here?" She demanded of him, but as usual, he didn't even blink at her abrasive tones. If anything, he seemed to garner amusement from it.

"Protecting my investment, girl," He replied with that smirk he always seemed to wear as though he knew a joke that Arya wasn't even aware was being told. She hated it. She hated him, "But no fear, your brother's in one piece young wolf"

"I know" She said obstinately, though in truth, she hadn't. In truth she had constantly worried that every moment would be Robb's last and she had constantly gazed worriedly at the bloodied gauze that was bandaged tight across his three arrow wounds. Now however, his eyes were open, and though he was still lay down he craned his neck to turn and look at her sister.

"Arya" He managed to say, "I had given up hope I would ever see you again"

At the sound of his voice, Arya ran over to him, The Hound forgotten for the moment.

"Robb! You're okay" She hugged him as tightly as possible and the feel of his arms around her, hugging her back gave her a feeling of such immense happiness she would have found it impossible to describe to anyone else. She felt the closest thing to safe she had felt in a long time. Robb was here. Robb was okay. She may not yet be at Winterfell, but she was home.

"I'm alive," Robb admitted,, "And look at you" He ran a hand through her roughly cut, short locks, "All your hair gone. No one's going to be calling you a Lady for a while I'd think. The Septa would have no choice but to die from fright and Gods only know what Mother would say"

He frowned at the mention of his Mother, the smile at seeing Arya fading from his face.

"Robb," Arya said quietly, "Where is Mother?"

As much as she loved seeing Robb, as much as it brought her joy, it had been Mother's face she had pictured as she had travelled and she felt she would not feel truly safe, as though her journey were finally at an end until she was in her Mother's arms once more.

Robb's brow furrowed and his jaw tensed, anger and bitterness lining his face and Arya dreaded what Robb might say, fearful that he would tell her that their Lady Mother had been lost in the hall that Robb had barely escaped from.

"Frey" He finally said, "He has her hostage"

"Hostage?" Arya question, "I thought they were Tully men. Mother said-"

"Haven't I told you, girl?" The Hound interrupted, "Honour means for nothing. Makes no difference what vows a man makes if his interests change"

"Shut up!" Arya shouted at him, "You don't know anything. Just because you have no honour and would kill a boy even though he never did anything, even though he wasn't armed-"  
"Still bleating on about your Michael, girl? I thought you were a wolf not a lamb. Wolves don't bleat" That smirk was on his face again.

"Stop," Robb commanded, and there was something so steely in his voice, something so King-like that even Sandor fell silent, struck dumb by the unexpected interruption.

"I broke my vow to Frey and Frey returned us with a broken vow which slaughtered my men at Lord Edmure's wedding," He said matter-of-factly, putting the matter at rest with simple straighforward facts.

"You broke your vow?" Arya asked, confused. Their Father always said how once a vow was made, it should never be broken, and she did not understand how her brother could go against their Father's words

"Vows mean nothing girl"

"They mean a great deal, and a great deal more when they are broken" Robb told the Hound firmly and finally took in the large man's opinion, "Aren't you a Lannister man? Joffrey's Hound? Why are you here?"

"Fuck the Lannisters. Fuck Joffrey" He replied, spitting on the floor, "Fuck the lot of them"

"Then whose man are you?" Robb questioned, squinting at the man suspiciously. He did not shy from the injuries that scarred Sandor's face. His image mattered naught to Robb, but his intent meant much.

"No one's. And that's the way it stays" He said, "I caught your girl here and I want paying. And if you have any sense you will take me on as well"

"Take you on? I thought you were to be no one's Hound?" Robb challenged.

"That's right," He nodded, "I won't be bending the knee nor pledging any fucking fealty"

"How can I trust you if you will swear no oath to me?"  
"How can you trust me if you do?" The Hound challenged, "Seems oaths are broken anyway, and broken oaths are why you're here so why ask one of me? You're without men, Lions everywhere, nothing but a sister who knows how to dance with a stick. If you don't take me you're a greater idiot than I thought"

Arya glared at her captor, imagining stabbing him with Needle, filling him with arrows, taking his head with an axe but no scenario was satisfying, no death worthy of the pain she wanted him to suffer. She hated him speaking to Robb like that, she hated him speaking to Robb at all. Why couldn't he take his payment and go? Leave them alone. Why did he want to stay? Could it be he was as afraid to be caught by Lions as he suggested Robb should be? Was he afraid of being taken back? Of being hung for desertion? Of his brother? Arya continued to squint at him suspiciously.

"So you want to be paid for my sister and then paid to travel with us? You would have yourself a sellsword?"

The Hound spat again.

"Sellswords go where there's money. I go where suits"

"And with me is your choice?" Robb let out a huge sigh, "Fine"  
"What?" Arya practically shouted the word, "Robb, you can't. He's awful. He's horrid. He killed the Butcher's boy and he..." Arya ran out of things there, for what had the Hound done that she had not? Killed a man? Stole from a man? Stole a horse? Tricked a man? All these Arya was guilty of also and Lord Beric had said that the Lord of Light, whoever that was, was to judge him for his murder of Mycah.

"He's not afraid to speak his mind," Robb said, "Which...is something I have need of. Too many have not, and it resulted in little else but bloodshed and heartache" He turned his attention fully to Sandor Clegane, "I shall pay your ransom and I shall pay you for your service. I ask no fealty, but while I ask no loyalty I shall reward betrayal with the swift stroke of a sword. Is that understood?"

"And give this one a sword, one she can handle" The Hound added as an extra term of agreement, nodding his head at Arya.

"Me?" Arya asked in surprise.

"Why?" Robb asked, unsure why the former Lannister man would care about such a thing.

"Because I'm fed up of her prancing around with that bloody stick"

Robb found it odd that he was able to smile at that, and to smile at Arya's wonderfully stubborn expression. As his Mother had urged him out of the hall and he had walked past his fallen men, as though he were the walking dead himself, he had felt as though he would never smile again.

A thought came to his mind. A memory.

"Jeyne. Where's Jeyne?"  
"Who's Jeyne?" Arya asked. The only Jeyne she knew was the servant girl, Jeyne Poole, who had accompanied her sister Sansa to King's Landing and she doubted Robb was referring to her.

"Jeyne...she's the woman for whom I broke my vow to Frey" Robb confessed, "She is my Lady wife"

"Jeyne Westerling" The Hound added the information, "Lannister bannermen." He looked at Arya with a look that silently reaffirmed his opinion that vows meant nothing, and that knights held no honour. "Happen she left after news came of the wedding. The Red Weddin they're calling it. Her Father probably took her to beg forgiveness of the crown. Not that they'll have it. King Joffrey's more likely to hand the crown to Stannis than he is to forgive a Stark"

"She's a Westerling" Arya insisted, though she knew if the woman had indeed married Robb then a Stark she was. There was a new Stark in the family, and Arya did not even know who she was, and the newcomer would never know her Father, the truest Stark of them all. Arya's sadness returned to her and she stood dejectedly, her head down, lost in melancholy thought.

"I have to return to Winterfell" Robb said, struggling a little on his bed, and for a moment she thought he meant to leave right that instant, "I cannot hope to protect what is left of my people, to help my Lady wife, to save my Lady Mother if I cannot keep my own castle. Before I can put things to rights, I must right my home"


	7. Catelyn 2

A/N: This is a bit shorter than I intended it to be, but I've been hectic busy this week so I thought it was better to give you all a shorter chapter rather than have you waiting for the longer one. The second part of this chapter should be posted later in the week. Enjoy!

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The arrival of Tywin Lannister came loud and clear, announced by an entourage of over a dozen horses and their riders, the loud stirring of the Twins' gates opening and a Frey servant trumpeting an acknowledgement from a loud horn that created a sound which beat through the air and tortured Catelyn's ears from where she sat in her prison in the tower room.

She was sat on her own, her makeshift maid Margaryt was working somewhere else in the Twins. She was not truly her maid, Catelyn knew, but the girl's friendly nature made it easy to forget she was nothing more than a servant sent to make sure the hostage stayed in a good enough condition to keep it's worth.

She sat on the small seat beside the window, her hair unbraided, and only a simple dress, the greys of Stark rather than the Tully green and blue, as she gazed out at the red and gold Lannister banners heralded in the keep below. She subconsciously tugged at the grey fur lining the sleeves of her dress, finding comfort in the softness, despite the fact it was far too warm for the weather of the Twins, even with Winter coming. She had only this dress and her green Tully cloak brought with her for the wedding and so it was only these which she had to wear in her life as prisoner. She drew strength from her Tully colours, the fish insignia brooch; Family. Duty. Honour. That was why she was hear, and she would serve her House well, she would honour their words.

Yet with the fur lined greys of her Stark name she felt the comfort of home, the strength of the She-Wolf that she had become, that Winterfell and her family of wolves had made her. The fur lining reminded her of nights with Ned, in bed naked beneath the furs, keeping away the cold with one another's bodies, their arms and legs entwined, her auburn hair splayed across the pillow, covering them both.

She gazed out the window beyond the Lannisters, to the green and muddy fields she saw further on, wondering how Robb fared, where he would be now. Would he be on his way to Riverrun where her Uncle the Blackfish, Brynden resided? Was he recovering from his wounds? She knew nothing of him and no news was brought her. She was the lone wolf, the solitary fish, and she had nothing in which to take comfort beyond fur trimmed clothes.

She could hear the footfalls below and hurried footsteps outside her door, and stood up from her seat to walk to the furthest part of the room. She couldn't bare to hear the sounds of Lannister men parading as though owned the place, as though they were righteous, as though they had not played the part in a slaughter of good men in a direct defiance of the Gods. May the seven hells take them all, Tywin Lannister most of all. How she wished to take a blade to his throat, how she wished she could take his head for his crimes as Ned had done with oathbreakers so many times. _Let me wield Ice to take your head Ser, let it be your body that is food for the crows, let it be your head that rests on a pike. Let me take your head and let me find joy in your final breath. _

She closed her eyes and breathed. _I must not let it consume me. I made a vow and I will keep it, by the Gods, I shall keep it for Robb, for Sansa, for Arya. _

She was so lost in her thoughts, her silent vows, her murmured prayers that she did not hear the heavy door to her room creak open, it's hinges aching and screeching. She heard it only as a background noise, and did not turn around to glance at Margaryt, but instead took her seat at the small table where a few basic items including a rusted comb lay upon the dusty surface.

"A large room for a prisoner," A mellifluous voice spoke from behind her, and her shackles went up as she realised it was not her made who had entered the room. She picked up the small dagger from the table- how foolish that the young knight who had moved her here had left it behind- and turned around to face Tywin Lannister with the dagger in her hand, held out threateningly to warn him off.

"Get out," She said, her tone low, strained, menacing. She glared at him, almost daring him to take a step closer to her, as she held the dagger firmly in her hand. He was handsome, tall and svelte, but a great deal older than the time she had seen him last and the steel in his eyes seemed to have become harder, meaner. She held the hilt more tightly.

"Lord Walder said you had a surprising tendency to a blade. I'm surprised they let you have such a thing in here" Tywin replied with a casual grace, though his nonchalance could have been feigned Cat doubted it was. This was man was cocky, over-confident.

"There are no men of honour here, they drop their blades as easily as they drop their vows"

"And you just pick them up," Tywin nodded, stepping forward a little further, but he was forced to stop when Catelyn stepped forward herself, blade in hand, "So what they say is true; Mother of Wolves; the She-Wolf has claws instead of scales in her later years"

She did not even deny it; a wolf would survive this and a wolf she must be. She was a Stark. She was Tully. She was both and both would give her strength through this, would give her strength to tear Tywin Lannister limb from limb if needs me.

"Why are you here?" She asked evenly, her tone low, "There is nothing I have for you. You have taken my husband, you have taken my daughters, you have taken my sons-"

"_That _was the Ironborn," He protested, "I always said they were damned idiots. Burning hostages..." He shook his head in disbelief, "Fools," He turned and saw Catelyn still had the blade out and her grip was surprisingly steady; it was no doubt that she was slay him with ease should she had cause to, and the look in her eyes told him she was desperate to find such a cause. "You can put that blade down, I haven't come here to fight. Besides," He added casually as he took a seat, "I thought you swore a vow"

"I swore a vow that I would take no vengeance against the Freys. You are _not_ a Frey," She said vehemently.

"A matter on which I am eternally grateful. Will you sit down?" He was impatient, and she could see the frustration rising in him, "I am not here to make threats, I am here to offer you something"

"What could you have to offer me?" She spat, "Everything you have taken cannot be returned; you have made sure of that"

"Even Lady Sansa?" He asked casually, and for a moment her handle on the blade faltered a little, dropping ever so slightly.

"Lady Lannister you mean," She countered, "You married her to your son, you took her from our family without her brother's permission, without mine, you gave her to that thing. She is alive I grant you, but you have taken her from as you have taken everything else"

"Yes, but the difference is one can visit a Lannister, whereas you cannot visit the dead, Lady Stark"

Perhaps it was the point he was insinuating, or perhaps it was the fact he had called her formerly by her title by the first time that made her drop the blade a little lower, the grip now much looser as she looked at him, her blue Tully eyes wide in curious wondering.

"What are you saying?"

"I am _saying _that this dank, gods forsaken place holds no candle to King's Landing. I am removing you from this place, as my hostage, as a hostage _to the crown_" He added pointedly.

Catelyn frowned, wondering what Tywin Lannister had to gain from such a thing. Robb could not hope to take King's Landing without the assistant of the Twins, so there was no longer a threat to the throne from the King of the North, and her vow was with the Freys not the Lannister, so surely such a move would only invite danger and conflict rather than prevent it. She peered at him suspiciously.

"Why?"

"Why?" He repeated the question as though the answer were obvious, "Because I have had Lord Frey muck one thing up and I will not have it happen again. He already has one Tully hostage in your brother Edmure-"

Edmure was alive. No one would tell her in the Twins, no matter how much she had asked and pleaded, not a single soul, not even Margaryt, had told her whether her brother lived. At the news she felt her legs weaken and she desperately wanted to seat herself, but she forced herself to remain standing. She would not fall in front of Lord Tywin; she would not break.

"-and I would much prefer a Tully-Stark hostage in my own keep, for my own Grandsons' sake"

Catelyn then realised what his true plan was, why he so wished to have his own hostage, why he wished to take _her_ and not her brother, the Lord of Riverrun, to King's Landing. It was because she was both Tully and Stark, while her brother was only Tully.

"You want me as security against my son _and _Lord Walder," She said in realisation, "Lord Walder is secure enough with two hostages to have now need to bend the knee to you...taking me weakens his hold against the North"

"I didn't know you were bright," Tywin said, "Fierce I'd been told, even innovative, but clever wasn't something I heard the peasants say. My daughter has wits as well-"

"Cersei Baratheon and myself hold no comparisons,"

"No doubt she would say the same thing," Tywin replied casually, unaffected by the vehemence of Cat's words, "Have you many things to bring with you?"

"I have not given leave," She challenged, "I have not said I shall go with you. I have vowed to be a hostage to Lord Frey for the sake of my son, for his life, but I will not grant you the same courtesy,"

"Not even to see your daughter?" He countered, "Married to a Lannister, such as he is, she is free to roam wherever she wishes. Free to even visit her Mother"

For all her strength, for all her determination, the mere though of seeing Sansa again, of braiding her copper hair, of seeing her dainty, smiling face, those hopeful eyes, caused Cat to fall into her seat, the hand holding the blade dropping limply at her side. Sansa. The one child she knew for certain to be living, the only child whose location she knew. She could see her, she could hold her in her arms again. She was a hostage here, doomed to stay for the rest of her life, to keep her son living, she would be a prisoner for all her days no matter where she resided. But in King's Landing she could at least reside in the company of one of her children.

"I thought as much," Tywin said smugly, knowing what her decision would ultimately be, "We leave on the morrow"


	8. Arya 2

It had taken almost a seven night before her brother had been well enough to rise from his bed for long periods at a time, and was able to carry himself about the inn and about the grounds. And a few days more after that before he had been deemed fit for travel. In truth, they couldn't have afford to wait a day longer; their coin had long run out and the innkeeper and his family would only be generous enough to allow Robb to pay with his title alone for so long. They had allegiance to Tullys, but Tullys and Starks were far smaller in number now than Lannisters and Freys and the innkeeper had been understandably concerned. Risking you life was one thing, risking your life without coin in payment was another.

Robb had thanked the family personally before they had left and had assured them that once balance was restored in the Kingdom and he regained his seat, he would reward the innkeeper and his kin handsomely.

"You have done me a great service, and it shall not be forgotten" He had sworn and while Arya had beamed with pride, the Hound had only grunted and stalked off towards the horses that awaited them. Any mention of vows or honour or knighthood and Sandor Clegane soon left, the distaste always evident on his scarred face. Arya knew what his brother had done to him when he was small, she knew Joffrey had inflicted as many horrors upon him as he had commanded him to inflict himself; all respect or believe in honour had been beaten out of the beast by his trials of life. But he'd never known Robb, Robb wasn't like that. Robb always kept his honour.

She had known the journey to Rivverrun would not be a short one- they could not travel main paths and often had to deviate and double back on themselves to prevent any lions that may wish to hunt them down- but she had thought it would be shorter than this. She had lost count of the days on horseback, the nights sleeping in muddy patches on the ground, and all her ached and was covered in sores.

She had thought the Hound infuriating when he had her for ransom, when he would use every trick to avoid someone following them, when he had employed every battle deceit to his knowledge, but her brothel was equal in his fearful tactics. Any chance to ride through water he would take and Arya had lost count of the times he had chose to change direction to throw off the scent to any who may follow them. He and the Hound only made one another worse; each fearful of followers in their own fashion and for their own reasons, they only seemed to escalate one another's paranoia.

Upon waking that morning, she had finally asked outright when they would be expected to arrive at Rivverrun.

"Today," Robb replied, after a thoughtful pause as he readied his horse

"Really?"

"You don't think we've travelled long enough, girl?" The Hound smirked and Arya only scowled at him in reply before turning back to her brother

"We'll reach Rivverrun before nightfall? Really?"

Robb nodded, "Yes. Before nightfall. I know these woods, I have fought in them and hunted in them and made camp in them,. I know them well. We will reach our Mother's family seat before nightfall"

Arya smiled, warm relief washing over her. She had felt the same relief when she had spied Stark banners at the Twins, but that had been spoiled immediately by the cruel, unrighteous slaughter at the so-called 'Red Wedding'. A spark of it had returned to find Robb alive, but it had been dimmed by having to leave her Lady Mother behind. Now, as she knew Tully lands were near, that she would meet her great-uncle, her Mother's uncle, the flame of relief rose again. She desperately wanted to feel safe, to be behind walls that didn't want her dead, to belong, to feel protected. She hoped the so-called Blackfish would not neglect to allow her a sword. She had heard tales from her Mother of the man and gathered he often defied many expectations and rules for no other reason than the delight of it, so she could not imagine he would object to her practising the dance lessons she had learnt with Syrio.

"You don't say your prayers anymore, girl" The Hound commented as he rode along side her, their horses picking their way through the uneven undergrowth of the lush woodland.

"Prayers? I don't say prayers" Arya replied. She never had; she always thought perhaps she should have done more often when she been at Winterfell. In the Godswood to her Father's Gods or in the Sept with her Mother's, but she had always frequented the stables more than she ever had any holy place and she knew as few holy words as she knew Bravossi.

"The names," The Hound reminded her, "The many names you speak before you sleep, you don't speak them no more, girl"

Arya froze and if not for the horse plodding it's way forward she would have stopped in her path completely, shocked by the Hound's words. He was right. For the past seven nights, she had not spoken the names of those she wished to kill, of those she wished to seek vengeance upon. She had forgotten to keep her ritual, to keep her prayer, she had been distracted by Robb, by travelling, by Rivverrun.

"I'd...I'd forgotten to..." She whispered and desperately tried to recall all the names to mind. Some would bold, branded upon her mind, and so returned to her immediately; Cersei, Joffrey, Walder Frey. But others came less quickly; The tickler, The mountain,. And others she could not recall at all.

"Forgotten what?" Robb asked, as he slowed the pace of his horse, allowing Arya to fall in line with him. He looked much better now, and though he still winced when he climbed upon his horse and had to have his scars cleaned everyday, there was more colour in his cheeks now and his hair was fuller, his eyes brighter. He was getting better.

"Names" Arya answered simply

"Names?"  
"Aye," The Hound interjected, "Names of men she means to kill"

Arya glared at him again, but it bounced off him a tourney sword upon his helm and he rode on, ignoring her.

"Men you mean to kill, sister?" Robb questioned, his face drawn into a small frown

"People who've hurt people, who've killed people, tortured them. They deserve to be punished," She said defensively, far more defensively than she intended.

"And who are these who deserve to be punished so?"

Arya raised her chin defiantly, "Cersei Lannister, Joffrey, Jaime, Tywin, Lord Walder Frey, The tickler, the Mountain, the-" She almost said 'the Hound' but as he seemed to be in some way part of his brother's service, for now anyway, she refrained from his name and instead stopped there.

Robb only nodded as he listened, his expression serious, as they continued on through the woods, the dense forest beginning to clear, as sunlight poured through and the trees thinned.

"I have made a vow to take no arms against the Freys, which I must keep for now for our Mother's sake, so I cannot vouch for our vengeance there, but the Lannisters shall have their day, I promise you, Arya. We will have them all"

"Rivverrun, my lord" The Hound announced. It seemed to Arya that whenever the dog said 'my lord' it seemed more mocking than honorary, his mouth even turned upward in a sneer as he said it. Robb had allowed him to attend with them, had promised him work without a requirement for fealty and he still held no respect for him, only mocked him. Arya hoped he would grow bored of Rivverrun and leave. Or the Blackfish would cut him down upon arrival.

As Rivverrun came into sight however, her feelings of fury and bitter anger faded away to an odd peaceful hum that one always feels at the sight of home after a long journey. Riverrun had never been her homestead but it had been her Mother's once, her blood kin resided here, their men at the gates, their men at the walls, their servants in the kitchens. As they rode through the open class, the castle coming closer and closer, Arya began to tentatively feel as if her long, terrible journey might possibly be coming to a close.

"Hold," Robb commanded, as though he had many armies of men with him, but still she and the Hound heeded as they both looked at him questioningly

"I see red and gold amidst that red and blue"

Arya looked and saw that it was true; there were only a few Lannister men but Arya knew the signs of a beginning siege when she saw one. The lions had come for the fishes.


	9. Bryndon

A/N: I apologise for any typos but I've had to do this on a tablet, and spellcheck isn't working, or rather I can't see it on the tablet, and I'm notoriously awful at spotting my own typos. But hopefully it's all okay. Enjoy!

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Brynden stood by the narrow window in the Lord's Room, looking over the green, lush, river bound land which surrounded the castle of Riverrun. A few more Lannister and Baratheron banners had dotted the ground, and a few more of his Tully and Stark archers had shot the bastards down. They were coming in trickles at the moment, small bands and groups, but he knew that Tywin Lannister would not wait much longer before he sent the larger numbers, the greater armies and Brynden would need more than a few archers to keep them at bay. Which was why he had the majority of his workers and servants spending their time organising the stores of food and supplies. At last count they had enough to last them two years, while nothing but empty fields surrounded the enemy outside. They would starve themselves before they starved out Riverrun.

As he leant against the stone frame of the window, he remembered how Cat would always be stood here as a little girl, waiting for her Father and Uncle to return, mostly her Father though she always found Brynden's occasional arrivals to be a pleasant surprise. Lysa would always be at the back at the room, sewing usually, but she never waited at the window. Her head was always downcast while Cat's was always strong and upright, unafraid to see what lay before her. When he had heard news of the Red Wedding his anger had known no bounds, and he had destroyed a count of three chairs, two tapestries and a book. The book had gotten in the crossfire of a sword slash through the tapestry. He had immediately began storing up in Rivverrun, had barricaded the doors and kept his great-nephew's wife and her family safe as the Young Wolf had asked of him. He sent ravens and waited for ravens in return and the eventual news that his niece had given herself as hostage for her son's life gave him a mixed feeling of relief and remorse. They were both alive but none were free. Robb was injured, and stripped of his many men, Catelyn was a hostage and Edmure stood outside on a galley in the grounds below, a clear captive, with a loose noose around his neck, a threat to both him and Brynden. As much as he wished to free the younger man, he knew he could not. He could not risk losing Riverrun and could not cease to protect Jeyne. He would expect exactly the same of Edmure were there places reversed.

He watched with pain and sorry in his Tully-blue eyes, as blue as the deep, clear river that ran alongside the castle and it's and it's battlements, as Edmure was once more raised on the galley, enough to cause him pain, to choke him a little, but not enough to kill him. The small band of Lannisters who mocked and jeered at the sight were just out of reach of the Tully archers, otherwise Brynden would strike them down without a second thought. He wanted to go down, to ride upon his horse and slay them all with his sword, but it would only take one, just one to sneak into the castle in his absence, to find Jeyne...no. He would not fail Robb, the King in the North. He gazed at the Stark flag, the grey direwolf on white, which flapped in the wind above Riverrun, the red and blue Tully sigil in the distance, sentenced to the background for now, the Direwolf taking centre stage. A King without his men is still a King.

As he continued to watch sadly, he heard the great doors to the large room, open, echoing loudly across the chambers and he turned to see one of his knights, Ser Greer, stood there, his sword sheathed, but his expression perplexed and concerned.

"What is it?" Brynden asked bluntly, gesturing for the man to come forward, and he dreaded the news he would bring. More deaths. More lost Starks? More slayed Tullys?

"There's a small band at the gate my Lord"

"Band?"

"A group of three," Ser Greer explained further, "A man who denies being the Hound, though I mark him as such, a little boy, and a weakling of a man who claims to be our King"

"Robb?" Brynden didn't dare to let hope enter his voice but he took a few involuntary steps forward.

"So he says, my Lord, not sure how much truth is in it"

Brynden rolled his eyes in frustration and didn't bother to hide it.  
"You couldn't recognise your own King?"

The knight shuffled and looked awkward and ashamed in turns, "Well, he's quite- they're not very-"  
"They weren't as clean as you would expect a King to be?" Brynden finished, knowing precisely what Greer was implying. He sighed in a grunt of frustration. "Well, we shall see soon enough" He announced, storming past the night and leading his own way through the castle, Stark and Tully servants alike nodding at him in deference as he marched through the stone halls and down the cold steps.

He turned around corners sharply, his muddy boots sliding on the floor and he could hear Ser Greer following behind him though he did not turn to look. As he turned the final corner and walked under the arch into the cold, wet, muddy courtyard, he stopped abruptly as the three visitors came into his line of vision. There they stood before him.

"Robb!" He announced in masculine delight, recognising his niece's son immediately as he strode forward, his arms open wide.

Robb, up till now his identity questioned, seemed to visibly sag with relief as he was recognised by his great uncle. He winced as Brynden's arms clasped around him, the wounds from the Red Wedding arrows were healing well, but were still very tender.

The wince did not go unnoticed by Brynden  
"That was the bastards from your Uncle's supposed wedding?"

Robb nodded, "I'm afraid they got a few shots in"

"But they're healing well? We'll have the Maester see to them" He whistled and a nearby servant boy came running over, his face and clothes as muddy and dirty as everything else in the courtyard and he smelled faintly of manure, "Fetch Maester Ryland. Now. Quick about it"

The boy nodded eagerly, proud of his assigned task, and ran off in the opposite direction and Brynden returned his attention to Robb.

"We'll have you seen to, and get you back in working order before long, I vow" He whacked him on the arm jovially, in a note of camaraderie, before turning his attention to the young boy who stood next to Robb, "And whose this young lad? A squire of yours?"

"I'm not a boy, I'm a girl," Arya protested and the Hound scoffed beside her

"That's a song she sings often. You're more boy than girl, I'd wager"

Brynden glared at him

"And I'd wager you were Joffrey's Hound. A mad dog to be put down" He took a step forward menacingly but Sandor did not back down, he did not even flinch, if anything he looked bored.

"Brynden," Robb spoke out, "This man is under my protection"  
"I don't need no protection, Stark"

Robb rolled his eyes, but seemed to take no offence in the protest.

"He is accompanying me, nuncle,"

Brynden looked at the young wolf with a frown lining his forehead with deep and heavy crevices

"Accompanying you? You've taken the Hound into your service? Are you mad?"  
"I am your King," Robb reminded him, some of his former assertion as Lord of Winterfell returning to his stance and Brynden couldn't help a flicker of acknowledgement and satisfaction coming into his expression. Robb needed to assert, needed to command, if he had any hope of taking back what had been ripped from him, "And I have an understanding with Sandor Clegane and he will come under no harm within your house, Brynden. Is that understood?"  
"Aye," Brynden shrugged, "It's understood. But I still think you're half mad to take the King's dog in"  
"I'm no King's dog," The Hound argued, "Fuck the King. Fuck the lot of them"  
"Well," Brynden said, "That's certainly a better song than his old one, eh boy?" He grinned at Arya, "So do you squire for the ex-dog or the king?"  
"I don't squire for anyone," Arya protested, "I _am_ a girl"  
"This is my sister," Robb explained, though he couldn't help smirking at his sister's offence, "Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell"

If Brynden could have widened his eyes anymore in shock, they surely would have popped from their sockets as he gazed at Arya in utter bewilderment.  
"Arya Stark? I know I've never truly met you, but I had imagined you would look more like your Mother and a lot less like your Father. And a lot more like a girl. Were you always such a ruffian?"  
"No" Arya said sulkily just as Robb said "Yes"

"I've been on the run. I was with the Night's Watch. And they cut my hair. And these clothes are better for running from people and for fighting. But I lost Needle. I _am_ a girl!"

Brynden started laughing openly, "I'm not denying that anymore, I promise you, though you may have to argue some more with the rest of the castle. Come on," He gave a look of disdain to the Hounds, gazed back at Robb briefly before looking back to the Hound once more, "And you as well, I suppose"

"I wish to see my wife," Robb demanded as they walked into the entrance of Riverrun, "Where is Jeyne?"  
"You have no cause to worry. I have kept her safe as you ask and you shall see her," Brynden looked his bedraggled looking King and his two companions up and down, weighing up their muddied appearance, "Though it is my advice, your Grace, that you make clean with new clothes first"

Brynden made sure to calmly inform Jeyne personally that Robb had returned safely and it taken all his strength and the logical reasoning of her maids to prevent the young girl from running to her husband. Instead Brynden had distracted her with the task of making orders to the kitchen to ensure there was a suitable repast for Robb once he was ready, of making sure she was well and presentable for she finally did see him again, and for ensuring the castle was still running smoothly despite the excitement and gossip the King and his company's arrival had caused. The presence of the Hound caused quite a different stir, mostly fear and disgust, and Brynden wondered yet again why the young King thought to trust the mad dog. The man was truly more hound than human, and no moniker had ever suited a man more, and tales of his vicious behaviour were known throughout the Seven Kingdoms and probably even reached as far as across the Narrow Sea and Dorne knew his brother The Mountain well enough. But Robb must have his reasons, but Robb had also trusted the Freys and that had granted them nothing but slaughter and an injured King, slaughtered men, and Edmure and Catelyn both taken hostage. The Freys were supposed to be their bannermen and yet they had betrayed them. The Hound was supposed to be a Lannister dog and yet here he stood at their side. Brynden did not know what to make of this development, but as he paced around the room, and glanced across at Jeyne stood anxiously waiting alongside her small banquet, he vowed to keep a wary eye on the Hound at all times.

The large doors open and the dog himself walked in behind Robb, looking as much a King as he ever did with his neatly, close trimmed beard, clean hair, clean skin, and fine clothing and armour and despite the fact he did not wear his crown and he walked with a minor limp and a tired weariness that came with great injuries, there was no doubt this boy was a leader and one worthy of following. Arya looked less happy in her garb, though she certainly looked more a girl once more in the dress she had been given. Her short hair had been neatened, and brushed into a sleek, long, dark bob and with her grey-blue eyes shining brightly and the red and blue tully dress her Mother had once worn at her age, Brynden thought he could see as much of Cat in her as he could Ned Stark. Though the girl certainly frowned and pulled a lot more at her dress than her Mother ever had.

"My husband, my love, your Grace," Young Jeyne exclaimed, throwing titles at her husband like breadcrumbs as she rushed towards him and he wasted no time in embracing her, the two kissing as though both believed they would never see the other again. To hear tell from stories passed around, it seemed if not for Catelyn's quick thinking and rather determined nature, the young lovers _would_ have never seen one another again. As the couple kissed, Arya groaned and pulled a face of displeasure at them and Brynden was surprised to see what seemed to pass for a smile cross the Hound's face

"Don't you dream of princes, girl? To rescue you on white horses?"  
"No," Arya put as much disgust into that one word as she could possibly manage, "Those stories are stupid"

"You've got more sense than most, I'll give you that," The Hound acknowledged, before walking forward and neglecting to wait for permission, picking up a chicken leg and began tearing at the meat. Arya soon followed suit, grabbing her own leg of meat to chew upon and as Brynden squinted at the two of them suspiciously, he wondered how much time the Hound and his great-niece had spent together and worried over Clegane's influence. He was a violent man and violence _always_ bred more violence.

Finally the young King and Queen of the North parted, faint smiles upon their lips, and they seemed mildly satisfied with their greeting. However, Robb's peaceful expression was suddenly marred by concern.

"What's this?" He asked, brushing his hand against a small red scar across his wife's forehead. It was fresh and barely healed.

"I'm afraid her Grace had a conflict with her Lady Mother the other day" Brynden volunteered when Jeyne only looked downward and remained silent  
"Conflict? What conflict?"

"After your uncle's wedding, the Red Wedding they call it," Brynden explained, "Lady Westerling tried to remove her Grace's crown. She would not allow it"

"She stole it from me, and caught me as she did so," Jeyne explained, finally finding her voice once more, "She had been speaking with Tywin Lannister, I swear it by the Seven I did not know it, I did not. That when you were defeated, we were to be granted a pardon. She wished to take me to King's Landing to honour it, but I would not go. I am your Queen, I love you, and I swear I did not know of my family's plans. I swear it by the Old Gods and the new, I swear it"

Robb shushed her gently and held her close, whispering gently reassurances into her ear as he did so. As he held her he looked over at the Blackfish

"Where is Lady Westerling now?"

"She and the rest of the Westerlings attempted to leave under the cover of night," Brynden explained, "I am ashamed to say there are those that succeeded but Lord and Lady Westerling themselves are currently locked in two separate tower rooms and their servants find themselves in cells." Brynden was not too happy about imprisoning servants for their Lord and Lady's actions, but one could never be sure where true loyalties lay and in these dangerous times, one could not take such risks.  
"Good," Robb nodded, "Keep them there. I shall speak with Lord and Lady Westerling soon, but I owe my wife my attention and time first."

Little Jeyne, for the girl was incredibly petite, and looked even more so amongst such company as the Blackfish and the Hound, smiled brightly at her husband's words and Brynden could not deny the love she felt for her King. Perhaps she would be pregnant soon and an heir would be on it's way. Though he was not sure whether such a development would bring greater safety or greater danger.

"How many Lannisters lay waiting beyond the walls?" Robb asked as he made his way to the small banquet finally and took his seat and began partaking of the food, "We managed to slip by unseen, but it was not without difficulties; their numbers seemed to be steadily increasing as though they're planning for battle"

"Not battle. A siege," Brynden replied, "They wish to starve us into surrender. They'll have no luck unless they wish to wait two years"

"You still did not answer my question," Robb insisted and Brynden sighed

"Over a hundred at last count. The archers shoot those that come into range, but I've no doubt the numbers will become greater sooner rather than later. I suspect we may see Jaime Lannister, or perhaps even Lord Tywin himself in good time. But if they wish for a siege then aye, we'll give them one. We have taken in all our stores; we can feed comfortably for a two year while they will starve in bare lands through a long Winter"  
"Winter is Coming," Robb said his House words both in heart and in practicality.  
"It always does eventually," Brynden countered

"But I cannot afford to wait it out," Robb continued, "I cannot win a war, I cannot win a battle, I have no right to win anything if I cannot hold my own seat. The Ironborn have destroyed Winterfell, they have besieged it and the Boltons besmirch it. I must build my strength and move on as soon as I can to Winterfell, taking as many men as you can spare Uncle"

"But surely-"

"I need to regain Winterfell if I am to regain my Mother and my sister Sansa. I need the North. And we need a battle plan"


	10. Tyrion 2

A/N: I apologise for the lateness of this update, but I have been incredibly busy. However, I do have the next chapter (Catelyn) all planned out so it shouldn't take very long at all for that one. Hope you enjoy this!

* * *

It had been almost a fortnight since his Father had announced his departure for the Twins and now the raven arrived announcing his return before the next sundown. Two weeks. Fourteen day. Tyrion had thought it would take longer to retrieve Catelyn Stark, she didn't exactly strike Tyrion as an accommodating woman. He remembered the last time he had come across her vividly, when he had wandered casually into that inn, only for her to arrest him there and then. She may have been wrong in her assumption, fed the wrong information clearly, but the way she assured herself of the support around before making any move was quite remarkable, quite innovative, and if not for her crazy sister Tyrion had doubts of whether he would be the relatively free man he was today. He thought that perhaps Tywin Lannister might not have met his match, but had certainly come across a worth adversary. And in a Stark no less. A Tully. A Stark. Tyrion really wasn't sure which she was more like; her married family or the one of blood.

Maybe he had just _hoped_ retrieving her would take longer. With the absence of his Father Tyrion had felt a little more of his freedom once more, Cersei may glare and throw metaphorical daggers and plot murders, but he will still the Hand in his Father's absence and there was little she could do about it. He had been able to walk around without being questioned once more, and his orders had been obeyed. Not to mention, he had been able to freely visit Shae without fear Tywin would find her location and have her hung as he had once sworn he would. With the help of Varys he had been sneaking from under the bedcovers and out of his room every night to visit the woman, leaving Sansa sound asleep in her bed, oblivious to the long absences of her 'husband'. Not that he thought she would cry out if she did find him gone, that she would alert anyone. He had no doubt she would care little for his absence and merely enjoy the sacred moments she had when her bedroom was her own.

When he had told her that his Father was temporarily leaving King's Landing on a task to bring her Mother here, the girl had understandably looked suspicious, before eventually giving way to a faint shadow of happiness over the simple matter of being able to see her Lady Mother once more. He had been forced to wipe that pitiful smile of her face however when he had to painfully remind her that Lady Stark would not be a guest, or visitor, but a hostage. She would not have the freedom of the grounds as Sansa did, in a relative sense, and he highly suspected his Father would not allow the woman the freedom to see whomever she wished, namely her daughter. No doubt he and Cersei would take great pleasure in seeing Sansa and Catelyn so close to one another and yet unable to meet. He had told Sansa all of this, and her sad, broken expression returned, though he was relieved to find she did not blame him for the pain, but, surprisingly, thanked him for his honesty. He didn't think she had ever thanked him for anything before in her life. Not even when he had rescued her for being beaten naked by Joffrey in the throne room.

And now he must tell her to prepare for her Mother's arrival, and to prepare for the disappointment of being denied seeing her. He had felt an injustice in the treatment in Sansa, even before they had forced their hands in marriage but seeing her pain, her sufferings constantly and in such close proximity, and feeling single-handedly responsible for at least a portion of them, made his sympathy rise even more. But then she would look at him with disgust and hatred in her eyes even when he made his best efforts and his sympathy would die away once more. They seemed to constantly ride up and down on their emotions, flicking back and forth between hatred and baring one another. His Father had punished them both when he ordered this union, and Tyrion had no doubt that had been Tywin's intent all along.

He walked along the gardens, weaving in between the meandering people in their summer clothes, still dressed in bright colours and light linens and silks despite the autumn which now almost entirely surrounded them. People strolled and chatted and seemed without any cares in the world and while Tyrion thought perhaps they were, he highly doubted. There was not a single person in King's Landing, in all of Westeros, that did not have problems, that did not hide grievances under strained smiles and bright eyes.

Eventually he came to the small gazebo which the Tyrells had begun to frequent so often, he was sure roses were beginning to twine around the building and the garden, growing magically under the sheer power of being the House's sigil. He paused for a moment and did not walk over directly, instead choosing to gaze upon the group from afar with his mismatched eyes. Margarery, the one the common folk were already calling 'the little queen', was speaking in that sparkling, singsong voice of hers, her Grandmother listening with that sharp she always wore, and whatever was spoken made Sansa laugh, the little Stark- no Lannister- smiling as he himself was never witness to. A genuine smile, that crinkled her young, blue eyes, and made her face light up. He never got that from her; all he ever received was constrained looks of disgust and hatred. Not even a smirk, never mind an all and out laugh. But what did he expect? Did he really think he would make her happy? That there's would be the love story of her Mother? The betrothed who grew to love one another through years of marriage? The only thing Sansa would grow would be a further hatred of him and his family.

Part of him was reluctant to break this happy group apart, to interrupt this strangely idyllic sphere within the horrors of the rest of King's Landing. Perhaps he was becoming sentimental, or perhaps the image was so serene that even the hardest heart would soften a little in it's presence. However, whether he was sentimental or not, he had to have words with her and so would have to break the moment apart with his horrid looks, and Lannister genes. No doubt Sansa's smiling expression would twist into one of disgust when he reached them, and the mere thought made him angry, and the imaginary scene which played out in his head of Sansa's horror and disgust, of Lady Olenna disdainful expression, made him desire to split the group and interrupt their supposed repartee. Served them right. Why should they smile and laugh when he was surrounded by nothing but hatred and disgust? It was a hateful thought, he knew, but he found he could not help himself; the process was so natural it was almost automotive.

However, when he finally did reach the group under the canopy and Sansa turned to him with those girlish features, those youthful eyes, the childlike innocence, some of his anger depleted as he gently requested that he speak with her quietly. She acquiesced without question and Lady Olenna and her granddaughter only watched with silent curiosity as he led his wife away from them to the quiet walks of the rose garden.

"I know you must have heard a great many whispers about the so-called Red Wedding," He began cautiously as they walked side by side at an almost furiously slow pace.

"Yes, my lord," She said, seemingly obedient as always.

"I have just this morning received a raven from my Father, in which it is confirmed that your brother, Robb Stark, has indeed seen alive and, if not well, certainly recovering. Although the rumours of him travelling with the Hound I would presume are ridiculous absurd"

"The Hound? They save he's with that...that..."

"I doubt it's true," He said, trying to be as reassuring as possible, as reassuring as she would allow him to be, "The common folk like to fabricate these sorts of stories often. They find it give them some strange entertainment. I shouldn't think on it"

His 'wife' nodded, and continued to walk, silent as she always was. She never had any words for him which weren't necessary or forced. He sighed and struggled onwards.

"His letter also held other news, which I think you should know..."

"What is it? What news?" She tried to hide it, but there was clearly fear in her eyes. King's Landing had taught her to always think the worst.

"I have known some of it for some weeks, since his departure, but I thought it best to, well, I was reluctant to tell you before"

"Why?"

"Because," He sighed, a sad, lamentable sigh that was heavy with the weight of a thousand problems and grievances, "My Lady, you have had enough tragedy inflicted upon you than many have in a single lifetime and I did not wish to inflict more pain or give you any hope only to dash it in the same blow"

She looked at him curiously now and she had stopped walking, every part of her utterly still as she frowned ever so slightly.

"Hope, my Lord...?"

"Your Lady Mother, while taken captive by Lord Walder Frey at this Red Wedding, has now been retrieved by my Father-"

"Retrieved?"

"A collection of hostages, shall we say. My Father did always like to keep his possessions close to hand...Sansa, they are making their way to King's Landing and should arrive later today, or possibly tomorrow"

"My Mother? Here?" She could not hide the excitement and thrill in her voice, and in fact, Tyrion did not believe she even attempted to try, her emotions were bare and for once he was witness to a smile which he himself had caused, that words he had spoken had prompted. It made for a pleasant change. Unfortunate that he should have to curtail so immediately.

"I must remind you, my Lady, that your Mother is a hostage, a prisoner in truth, and will not have freedom of the city. I doubt my Father will be willing to permit to see any guests, even her daughter...I do not wish you to think you may be truly united..I merely thought you deserved to know that she would be arriving. I do hope I have not erred" He didn't know why he added the last part, why he sounded so formal suddenly. Why should he care? He had done his part and informed her as best he could, and she certainly never cared about his feelings so why should he give a damn about hers?

"I do not care, my Lord," Sansa told him, shaking her head, her smile still plain to see, "It is family come here to a place where I have been nothing but alone, I do not care for where they keep her so long as she's close, so long as I am no longer alone"

How could someone remain so consistently optimistic and positive in this world? Tyrion would never understand such continuing innocence but something in him admired it, almost wanted to protect it. Perhaps because he himself had never been allowed such a luxury.

Off in the distance, there was the faint sound of trumpets and announcement bells; the city gates were opening for an arrival. Hearing the noise, Sansa immediately lit up, clearly presuming it was her Mother's arrival which the trumpeters heralded, and before he could speak a word, she had gathered her skirts in her hands and ran as best as she could along the winding paths and disappeared from view, off in the direction of the palace.

Watching her run off, he did not notice the Lady Olenna and Margery Tyrell walk up behind him, standing next to him, watching Sansa also. The Queen of Thorns had that smirk on her face once more, one of eternal amusement at those flittering around her.

"Some intriguing news, I imagine?" She said, her smirk audible in her voice.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Tyrion replied, though he gave no more away, not wishing to pander to the old woman's incessant prying and poking, but the slight seemed to go over her head completely. Or else she just chose to ignore it as she continued to smirk.

"Well," She said, "It seems that may be some drama yet then. Just in time for the wedding"

The most frustrating thing to him was the small fact that the old woman was right.


End file.
